Darkness Within the Heart
by Analyzing Neko
Summary: Miroku is the best assassin in Japan, and his latest mission is to capture a mysterious woman with a dark past. A past that interests his boss, and involves a century long curse, one that has been protected for years. And she is the newest to the job...
1. Status:: Prologue

**Dedication:** Hello peeps—that is if anybody is reading this—I'm dedicating this one to…my little brother, who loves stories like this. And oddly enough, seems to get really excited when I mention that fact that he needs to leave me alone because I'm writing a murder scene. o.O I'll try not to dwell on how creepy that fact is….

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own the show. And I'm not really sure how Rumiko Takahashi-sama would particularly like what I'm doing with her characters now. . (I'm trying something new, that's all, serious!)

**Being Invited In**

He was clothed only in black, from his long black trench coat, to his dark black boots. The only thing he wore that was not of the color could not be seen. However, it was because of that object that he was so widely known. It was because of this that people would travel from all over the world just to contact him. The reason behind why he was never without an assignment.

He leaned against a fence, looking at ease, all except for his eyes; which were staring in earnest through a window. He watch as a man hit his wife, knocking her to the ground, and then leaning over and began kicking her. He watched all of this without a single expression crossing his face.

The man inside began to kick his fallen wife even more brutally, almost unbalancing himself with the force of his kicks. When he finally stopped, it was only to lean down and wrench his wife to her feet.

He began to yell, screaming an inch from her face. His spittle hit her; splattering across her cheeks as he began to become more excited with his screams, jerking her around, and then slamming her against the kitchen counter. When he jerked her upwards, her face was bloody. She let out a scream, and her husband only hit her that much harder, once again knocking her to the ground. Only this time, instead of leaning over to kick her, he reached over into the drain board, and pulled out a large steak knife.

It was then that the man outside finally began to move. He stepped away from the fence, and began to walk calmly towards the house. His movements were unhurried, calculated, and with no emotion that made him pick up his pace or make his heart race. He was completely in control.

The husband looked up in surprise when he found another man in his house, but his surprise soon turned into anger at the intrusion. He opened his mouth to scream at the stranger, but was cut short when he noticed something about the man. Or more, what he had just pulled out from the confines of his dark jacket. Then he himself screamed in terror, and tried to put as much distance between the two of them as he could.

For the man had unsheathed a sword, and was holding it expertly in his right hand, glaring at the husband icily. He watched the man through dark calculating eyes, making sure that he understood what was about to happen. And then without hesitation, he brought his sword up and then cleanly down, slicing through muscle and bone.

The head of the husband rolled across the waxed kitchen floor and came to a rest near the overturned dinning room table. The woman screamed once again, only this time in disgust and fear—but not in surprise.

She looked up at him, horror and relief in her eyes. He nodded towards her, and then flicked his sword to the side, flinging blood off from the blade. Then he turned, and left the way he had come.

Through an unlocked door.

**Author's Note: **6.6 Um….this is my first really attempt at anything like this for a fanfic. It's just…I looked down at my stories up here, and they were all romantic comedies! So now I'm trying to see if I can write something darker…less humorous. (It was actually a little weird; I kept trying to make him a klutzy hit man without a clue. .) So, anyway, this is the prologue—that's why it's so incredibly short—to yet another of my Miroku and Sango stories—yup, that guy you just read about was _him_, Miroku-san. . Now, if you do not think that this was out of character enough, then I _seriously_ need to work on my portrayal of him.

Please review! (I even already have chapter one written out!)

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	2. Status:: Chapter One

Dedication: I am dedicating this to all the energetic feed back I got on my first dark fic; thanks ever so much! I'm glad that you liked the prologue! I just hope I can manage to write this—you're right, it is a bit of a challenge. ; But I'm going to try really hard, because I'm really enjoying writing this! 6.6 Please don't analyze that too much; people at school are already looking at me strange when I keep muttering things like: "_That doesn't sound dark enough, it doesn't fit the mood" _and the ever famous _"Now let's get to the killing!"_ . My friends are the ones that heard me muttering about how I couldn't kill a person to happy tunes. (I had been listening to my Discman, and apparently I like to talk to myself when I do this. . Who would've known?) I'm not a psychopath, I swear.

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own the show! . But I have this super secret plan where I might one day....I just need is a soda, a book, and for Superman to run around the world so fast that he reverses time—while I drink and read a book of course—and then I _make_ the show! Muhahahaha! ....Now I just need to find a way to bring Superman to life....and if I could figure that out, I'd much rather have Spiderman come to life. Peter Parker rocks!

**The Hate That Reins Within**

He let the hot shower water beat down hard upon him, working out the kinks in his tired muscles. Closing his eyes, he leaned into the water, and braced his head on the wall beneath the shower nozzle. He took a deep breath, and slowly opened his eyes, staring down at the shower drain.

Pale red water made its way down the pipes.

He closed his eyes once more, and grabbed a bottle of shampoo. He quickly worked it into his hair; the foam from the shampoo was a pale pink. He grabbed a hand towel and a bar of soap, and quickly scrubbed himself from head to toe—sending another cascade of red tinged water down the drain.

There wasn't a single open gash on his muscle toned body, nor a solitary scar.

Once he was satisfied with the clarity of the water, he turned the knobs of the shower off, and climbed out of the tub. Wrapping himself in a dark towel, he made his way to his bedroom.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

He paused in front of his bedroom door, and then slowly made his way to the front entrance of his apartment. He stared at the heavy wood door that served as his front door. Many deadbolts had been installed down the side of the soundproof door. His dark, smoky eyes watched as one-by-one that locks clicked open. There were thirteen deadbolts, and slowly twelve of them slid open, the last one stayed clasped.

His lips tipped up into a slight smile for a moment, before his face melted back into its stoic expression.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

He walked up to the door, and unhurriedly unlocked the last deadbolt, and slowly opened the door. A pair of icy blue eyes met his.

"You added a new lock."

He nodded, staring emotionless at the raven-haired man on the other side of his door. The man grunted, and handed him a black envelope. Then turned, and began to walk away. "It won't be long until he has a key to that one as well." He called over his shoulder, before disappearing down another hall.

After a moment, he closed the door and stared at the black envelope. He knew what it meant.

Blood would be shed that night.

Without hesitation, he ripped open the envelope, and slid out the piece of paper. It simply read: _The taijiya line. _He tossed the thick cream colored piece of paper onto his couch, and then noticed another piece of paper within the envelope. He unfolded it quickly, and read what was written elegantly across: _Capture the girl called Sango Hogosha_.

He too dropped the note onto his couch, and headed into his bedroom. He opened his armoire and tugged on a pair of boxers and a pair of black trousers. He then pulled on a black shirt, and began buttoning it. Once he finished, he strapped on a sheath to his left calf, and slid a small sword into it. He doubted he would need it, but he'd learned long ago to always be prepared for the worst.

He then walked over to his bedroom wall, and grabbed his double-edged sword off its display case. All along the wall of his apartment, swords were mounted. A few of his swords dated back to the Sengoku Jidai era, while others had been made more recently. Each one was carefully tended after, but they all looked as though they had been in use.

Recently.

He slid the sword through a loop on his belt, and grabbed a heavy coat; one that carefully hid his weapon from sight.

Miroku Houshi, the deadliest man in all of Japan was ready. Once again that night, he was prepared to kill.

Hopefully Japan was ready for the blood shed.

* * *

Sango jerked awake when the bus hit a pot hole, and then rolled to a stop. Yawning, she glanced out her window and cursed. She'd slept though her stop again. Jumping to her feet, she made her way to the front of the bus, and nodded at the drivers as she got off. He ignored her, and sped away the second her feet hit the ground.

She sighed, and shifted her duffle bag from one shoulder to the other. She glanced around, and sighed once more, then began the long trek home. She knew if she was quick about it she'd be able to make it home in a little less than half and hour.

Yawning, she glanced at her watch, and gave a start. She had invited her father and brother over for dinner, and it was already going on nine o'clock at night. Her mind was already playing a million different scenarios of what would happen if she walked in though her house doors late. And all of them included her father yelling at her once again about how irresponsible she was.

Somehow, he always managed to forget that she was the one that raised Kohaku. That she was the one that had to take over as both mother and wife when her mother died. And those hadn't been the only things she had had to take over as....

She shook her head, refusing to let her thoughts travel down that path. All that mattered was that she always met her responsibilities head on, every last one of them. He had never done that in his life, and that thought alone could keep her going on the days that she felt like giving up. On days that her legs just didn't want to move and her heart was too heavy with grief, the thought that she was nothing like her father kept her going. She was better than him, and she would make sure Kohaku was too.

Her feet slapped against the pavement, and her duffle bag beat steadily against her hip. She flinched each time it smacked against her latest bruises. Glancing down at her watch, she picked up her pace, and flew down the street, making it to her home in a record time. Breathing hard, she made her way up the steps to her rickety old house.

She sighed when she noticed that her front door was open. Her brother and father must be inside, waiting. She hated to keep them waiting almost as much as she hated when they forgot to shut the front door. Her father was a proud man, and even though he couldn't keep up with the life of the taijiya, he refused to believe that there wasn't an enemy that he couldn't defeat. He didn't understand that the streets of Japan were dangerous, especially her street.

She walked into her home, locking the door behind her, and dumped her duffle bag onto the floor. Kicking off her shoes, she headed straight for the kitchen. "Sorry, class didn't end until eight-thirty, and our dinner plans slipped my mind." She called over her shoulder, getting the ingredients for curry and rice together. Her shoulders tensed, preparing for the onslaught of words from her father.

It was silent.

She turned around, and looked out the kitchen door. "Hello?" She called, and then the sound of the TV booting up made her feel like screaming. It was just like her father to try and drown her out, to ignore her, as he had been doing for many years. She wasn't stupid; she knew that he had rather had two strong and brave sons, instead of a useless daughter and a kind-hearted son.

Her eyes began to water, and she picked up a steak knife, and glanced down at her wrists. Many days she wanted to just end it all, she knew with two clean strokes, she could finally be free of it all. Two diagonal cuts, and she could watch it all drain from within her; the pain, the responsibility, and the disappointment....

She sighed, and began to cut the vegetables for the curry, her hand moving deftly with the knife. All was silent, except for the constant drone of the television set in the next room. Once she set the rice on the stove and had all the vegetables ready for the curry, she set down her knife, and decided to face her father's wrath. It would be easier if she got it over with before dinner; so that the three of them may actually have a conversation over the dinner table for once.

She made her way down the hallway leading towards her living room, already bracing herself for the verbal attack. She closed her eyes, and began to walk into the room, when there was a creak on the floorboards behind her. She quickly turned around to investigate the noise. She had been expecting to see Kohaku or perhaps her father, having decided that he wanted to talk to her.

No one was there.

Shaking her head, she sighed and walked in through the arched doorway into the room. The television lit the dark room in a dim and dreary light, illuminating the fire-winged chair station in front of the screen. She could see the back of her father's head, and rolled her eyes at the fact that he didn't turn around to greet her. Somehow he always managed to make her feel like a guest in her own house, and if he didn't approve of her, she felt worse than dirt.

At that moment, she felt worse than dirt.

"Dad, I'm sorry, but it couldn't be helped—my class didn't let out until eight-thirty. I would have been here earlier, but...." She had stopped a foot away from where he was sitting, but when he refused to answer her, she walked up towards the front of it. Planning on standing in front of the television, so that he would at least have to acknowledge her presence, "Dad..." She started again, and then stopped.

She felt as though her feet were made out of cement and not a part of her body as she took in her father. Her throat constricted and her eyes began to water, "Daddy?" She whispered, tears beginning to steam down her face.

Her father sat in the chair; at first glance he seemed fine. His face was in the direction of the television, a bit of a frown across it, and his long dark hair was neatly combed back into a low ponytail. He looked as neat and orderly as he usually did, except for one small detail: the front of his light shirt was stained in crimson. In the gap between his collar bone and his neck was a pool of blood, and just above that pool was....

Sango began to scream as she took in the sight of the deep and precise gash across her father throat. Her screams drown out the sound of the game show host and the cheesy music that he spoke over. She screamed until her lungs began to burn, and then her heaving sobs filled the room.

She turned away from the body, bringing her hands up to her eyes, trying to shield them from the scene that had been burned into her mind. The force of her sobs made her shoulders shake, and her breathing hoarse. There was another creak of a floorboard, and she whirled around, her tears suddenly forgotten as she realized that she wasn't in her house alone.

_Kohaku! _

Her eyes widened, and she quickly searched the room. "Kohaku?" She whispered, fear, hope, and guilt filling her at once—if he was still alive, how long had he been suffering? How long had she kept him waiting?

She quickly ducked into the shadows, and began to silently make her way out of the room. She knew she had an advantage on whoever was within her house; whereas they had no idea which floorboards gave away their position, she knew how to get from place to place silently.

Her heart racing, she slipped out of the living room and into her bedroom. Quietly, she pressed herself up against her wall, and tilted her head to the side, so that she could gaze unnoticed into her hallway.

She held her breath, her heart racing, and watched the hall for what felt like an hour. Then a shadow passed through it and into the living room. She bit back a gasp and squeezed her eyes shut. She had known before that someone must've been in her house, but her assumption being proved right was truly freighting.

Her eyes still squeezed shut, her mind began to race. She knew that she needed to do something quick, or she was going to die. Tears silently streamed down her face, her grief and her fear keeping her from rational thought. _Pull yourself together Sango!_ She screamed to herself, and clenched her fist, her eyes shooting open.

_The kitchen!_

She turned, and gazed once more out at the hallway, seeing that no one was there, she decided to chance it. Quickly and silently, she raced into the kitchen, and curse when she realized that her shadow could be seen from anywhere in the house. She shook the thought away, and raced towards the counter. The steak knife was resting on the cutting board; quickly she dashed towards it, and snatched it up in her hand. Weapon in hand, she turned around, and bit back a bloodcurdling scream.

A man clothed in black stood in her kitchen, a sword dripping with blood clutched in his right hand, while blood ran off him, forming a pool around his feet. His dark calculating eyes took in her, and then his grip tightened on his blade.

And with a start, he raced towards her.

**Author's Note: **Sorry that this took so long to update, it was kind of a hard chapter for me to write. Seeing as I haven't really written anything like this since eighth grade—back then, these were the only kind of stories I **_did_** write. .

Anyways, I had trouble for awhile, but then I apparently stopped having trouble, given that this is probably one of the longer chapters that I've written for a story on this site. (I'm going to work on that by the way. .) Did you like the chapter? Because being who I am, I'm kind of thinking it's a little dull or something....6.6 No self-confidence over here...I hope you liked the chapter, and I'm pretty sure that I'll have another chapter out a bit quicker. ;

Anyways, now I need to go update my other stories, and quite possible post some more. (I know, I know, _another_ one.) Yeah, I thought up three new stories....and two of them aren't Miroku and Sango stories....Gomen nasai...I just wanted to test my skills, and see if I could write one from Sesshomaru's point of view, and the other plot wouldn't work if I wrote it with anyone but Inuyasha and Kagome. (Okay, it probably would've, but it's another "morning after" and I didn't want to be redundant. . Ps. Monika-chan, you think this is too much like _Broken Pieces_? I started that story, but then I stopped....do you recommend it with flying colors? If so I'll definitely finish! . I hope I can keep the plot lines separate.)

Whelp, got to go; Gilmore Girls is coming on! . See ya in a different story note! (-.-I'm not crazy...I'm just a little unwell. I love that song!)


	3. Status:: Chapter Two

**Dedication: **Um...to Vast's _"Touched"_, which I listen to every time that I start writing this fanfic. I don't know why, probably because it's kind of an eerie song, and really gets me in the mood for...well...this story. Oh, and to Kim, who seems to only be interested in this story (She keeps reading my rough drafts of chapters when we're in Environmental Science together) and told me that I needed to keep writing it. This one's for you Kim! 6.6 I am _such_ a dork....

**Disclaimer: **Hahaha! If I own _Inuyasha_, things would be **_very _**different. For one, in every episode, we'd learn more about Miroku's past, there would be more of him in it, and it would be solely based upon the romance blossoming between him and Sango. Basically, if I owned the show, it would be called _Miroku_.

**The Blade of a Killer**

The techniques that she had been forced to learn suddenly raced through her mind with blind speed, and she instinctively ducked to the kitchen floor, rolling on her side until she was underneath her kitchen table. The room was still for a moment, and she watched as the man's dark boots made their way to her table. She was ready for him, crouching with the blade grasped tightly in her hand; she waited until he was close enough to sink the knife into him.

The boots came within a few feet of the table, and then suddenly disappeared from sight. Sango's heart missed a beat, and she looked around frantically. The room was eerily silent; the only sound she could hear was that of her racing heart.

_Where had he gone?_

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She knew she had to get out from beneath the table; she was a sitting duck while she under there. Opening her eyes, she began to crawl out from her makeshift fortress.

_Creak!_

She stopped, her heartbeat out of control, the noise had come from above her. Tears of dread began to stream down her face, and she slowly turned her head and looked up above her.

He stood on her kitchen table, his sword lowered in his hand; waiting for her. When her dark brown eyes met his, she was paralyzed in fear; his eyes held no warmth, no enjoyment of what he was doing, they held no emotions at all.

In her terrified state, she dimly noticed his hand once again grip his blade tighter, and how his body seemed to tense, as though preparing to jump. Slowly she blinked, and ducked her head; understanding that her time had come. She was about to die, and a coward's death at that; having never raised her knife to defend herself.

Her father would be ashamed.

_My father would be ashamed. _Her head shot up at the thought, she couldn't do that to her father. She needed to bring honor onto his death, not curl up and let herself be murdered. For once, she needed to prove to him, to prove to herself, that she was every bit a taijiya then a son could have been.

She needed to stay alive.

She scrambled from beneath the table as quickly as she could, and whirled around, her knife poised for battle. She refused to go down without a fight, and if it was with her last breath, she would make this man pay for slaying her father.

She blinked, and once again fear took hold of her body. He was no longer standing on top of the table; he was no longer was in sight. Her body braced, and she slowly turned around, carefully taking in her surroundings. The room was empty, and the house was still. He was toying with her.

Sango's breathes became ragged as she slowly stepped out from the kitchen, and returned once more to the dark hallway. Her footsteps were silent, yet she knew that she needed to still her unsteady heart if she wished to have the element of surprise and stealth.

A shadow moved swiftly in front of her, rushing past her and into the living room. Her breath caught, and then she slowly followed after it, knowing that once she reached the room, the fight would continue. Stepping into the room, she noticed two things, one was the silhouette of the man standing in front of the television, and the other was that the sound of been muted from the box.

The figure straightened when he noticed that she had entered the room, and leisurely made its way over to her, stepping into the blanket of darkness, and disappearing from her sight. For a moment, she wished that she had a sword or a gun, anything that would be better for her to protect herself with. However, she shook the thought away, trying to be content with the fact that she had anything at all to fight with.

She could feel her training taking over her as she slowly slid into a stance; one that insured defense from any direction. As long as her reflexives hadn't dulled, she knew that she would be able to fight him.

_He killed your father;_ a voice whispered within her mind, _your father was once the most feared taijiya in all of Japan. _She tried to shake the thought away, remembering instead how her father had let his training go as he aged—especially after his wife had died, leaving him two little children to raise.

There was a sound to her right, and immediately she flinched, bring her knife up close to her face; the sound of metal hitting metal filled the room. She felt the pressure on her blade as he pressed down against it, bringing the sharp edge closer to her throat. She gasped, trying to fight against the weight, but he was far too strong for her. Her gasp turned into a scream of pain as the knife bit down into her skin. Her eyes began to tear when she felt the blade hit her clavicle bone, and her screams intensified as the weight didn't let up. Then, as her scream began to crescendo, the stress against her knife stopped, and the man took a step away from her. She slowly blinked away her tears, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Had he...had he just spared her life?

She took a step away from him, trying to ignore the searing pain in her shoulder, nor did she pay any heed to the steady stream of blood running down her chest. Her eyes gazed blindly in front of her, and her knife was once again gripped firmly in her arm. Only one thought went through her mind as she sunk back into the shadows.

It was not her time to die.

Not yet.

Grimacing at the pain, she tried to train her eyes on his dark form. He seemed to be just standing and watching her, his sword not even raised in defense. Anger filled her as she realized that there was nothing she could do, even though he wasn't even on the defense; she couldn't touch him. Not when he was able to move as swiftly and silently as he was able to. And she knew hoping for him to slip on and make a mistake was an empty wish—it took caring about what you were doing, feeling something intense for your actions, to be able to distract you. And his every movements were cold, calculating, and made with no emotional attachment.

He had done this before.

Her eyes widened at this sudden revelation; someone must have wanted him here, in the middle of her living room. Someone must've paid him to kill her father...and her...and quite possibly her brother.

She grasped her shoulder, and stared in the area that she believed he stood. "What do you want?" She whispered hoarsely, "Why did you kill...why did you k-kill my father?" Silence was her only answer, and with that silence, her anger heightened. "Tell me." She demanded, her eyes narrowing and her body poised to attack.

But he was faster than her; the moment she began to launch herself at him, his sword was brandished and with a quick swipe, he sunk the blade into her leg. Reeling back in pain, she dropped to the floor, clutching at her wounded leg, trying to apply pressure to the gushing wound. He stood above her, and didn't even blink as he brought the sword down again, this time slicing into her right arm, and rendering her sword wielding hand completely useless.

She screamed in pain, watching as her own blood and tears soaked into the carpet beneath her. Her body tensed, waiting for the final swipe—the one that would end her pain, both physically and emotionally, forever.

_Sango, pick yourself up and fight—what of Kohaku?_

With sudden renewed her eyes widened and protectiveness for her brother overcame her. She would sooner die a thousand deaths than not know the state and whereabouts of her brother. She would rather feel life slowly slip out of her reach then let anyone harm one hair on her brother's head.

She pushed herself off the ground, and picked up her knife with her left hand. Whipping around so that she lay on her back, she brought the knife up, and with all her strength, plunged in towards his leg.

He stepped away, but not before the blade managed to nick his leg. Though unbeknownst to her; she was the first to ever draw blood from him. No matter how minor the gash, she was the first to be the cause of a single drop of blood from Miroku Houshi's body.

Scrambling to her feet, she limped as fast as she could into the hall, and then into her bedroom. A heavy flow of blood followed behind her, and she began to feel faint on her feet, but she pushed on. Dark spots rimmed in white began to corrupt her vision, but she wasn't about to let blood loss be her downfall. Stumbling into her bedroom, she headed straight towards her bathroom, as she shut the door; she saw his sweep down before her. She quickly slid the lock into place, and crawled onto of her toilet seat, clawing at the window just above her head.

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Her body jerked in surprise when he began to bang himself against the wooden door, and once again her heartbeat became sporadic. She frantically tried to pry the window open, but it wouldn't budge. The pounding became louder against the door, and the heart wrenching sound of wood being to split apart filled the room.

With unsteady hands, she worked at the window, but once the crunch of the wood became louder and more sinister, she reeled back her fist and sent it through the window. Glass fell towards the ground outside of her window and a few fragments fell back into the bathroom.

Without hesitation, she pulled herself up on the windowsill—jagged pieces of glass slicing into her palms—and then dropped out into the ally beside her house. Pieces of glass lodged themselves in various patched of skin around her body, and she bit back another cry of pain when she pushed herself to her feet—sending the glass wedged in her palms further into her skin, and inviting a few other stray glass pieces into her bleeding hands.

She stumbled down her street, known that calling out for help would be a waste of breath and would fall on deaf ears. The street she lived on was one were people only thought of their own safety. She would only be giving off her location if she screamed for help. No one would dare step from the safety of their houses at the sound of one more neighbor dying on the streets.

Shaking from the amount of blood loss, she gripped one of the jagged pieces of glass jutting out of her hand, and wrenched it out. She squeal in pain, but kept stumbling down her street.

Her footing was uncertain as made her way down the wide road; many times she lost her balance and almost fell to the unforgiving asphalt. Gasping in pain, she continues pulling the glass from her hands, and screaming in pain.

Not a single door opened; though one window closed.

Falling to her knees, she hunched over her wounded hands; tears running freely down her face. She knew that she was not going to last that night. Where she was leaving a wake of blood trailing after her, and he had one single scratch. The statistics of survival of the night were highly stacked in his favor.

"Kohaku..." She moaned, her long black hair falling like a curtain around her face, "Kohaku...I'm so sorry..." Her voice caught on a lump in her throat, and she sobbed, "I'm sorry I failed you."

There was a crunch of gravel underfoot in front of her, and she looked up to see the man standing in front of her. She made no movement to protect herself, just watched as he raised his sword, and then brought it down hard.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long to get up, I've been writing and rewriting it since I posted the last chapter (something that happens every time I'm left alone with anything that I've written for extended amounts of time). Did you guys like the chapter? I know this sounds a bit morbid, but I had fun writing it. Don't ask me why writing scenes were people get hurt is fun for me, I sound morbid enough as is. xX

Thank you all for reading my story! And thanks for all the reviews! I'm always really excited when I see that people are actually reading my stuff! Thanks again! And I hope you liked the chapter! (Hehehe....I'm really enjoying writing cliffhangers as well, can you tell?) Please review!


	4. Status:: Chapter Three

**Dedication: **Um…to…something or other… Okay, I dedicate this one to my friend Emiko, because she always liked stories that had action in them rather than the extreme dramatic romances that I haven't gotten around to writing yet—but I will! So, Emiko, this rather dark chapter is all for you!

**Disclaimer: **What? _Inuyasha_ isn't mine? But all these years I thought **I** was the one making the graphic novels and working with the people to get the show on the air! Oh, right, the show and everything that goes along with it is copyrighted by Rumiko Takahashi. (That lucky girl…)

**The Beginning of the End**

Miroku pulled into a parking space in front of an abandon hospital and cut the engine, turning to gaze at the woman sitting in the passenger seat. He could honestly say that he had no idea what was so special about her; she looked like a regular girl off the street. However, that didn't change the fact that his boss was very interested in her for some reason, one that he may never know.

Sighing, he opened his door and walked around to the other side of his sleek black car, to open the passenger side. Once it swung open, he wasted another moment staring at her. He would never think of himself as an emotional person, but he did know that something in side of him didn't want to take her inside that building. A part of him was screaming to just take the girl and run; to get away from everything that Japan had to offer him.

He hissed in pain as his right hand suddenly felt like a dagger was being ripped through it, a warning for having thoughts such as that. Clenching his hand, he glared down at the girl; no mercy was to be shown that night.

Reaching down, he grabbed her beneath her arms and dragged her out of his car. Her body hit the pavement limply, the sound of it making him cringe. He then swung her legs up to him, hooking one arms beneath them and the other propping up her back. Carrying her bridal style, he walked across the parking lot, and up to the entrance doors to the hospital, where two men stood in front of the door, both dressed in black with long white hair.

The taller one nodded at him, "Monk, what business do you have here?" He asked in a cold, even tone. Miroku noted the usage of his nickname from off the streets, and shifted the girl in his arms.

"I am here to drop her off."

"Feh," the shorter one muttered, noticing the blood dripping off both Miroku and the girl, "What the heck did you do to her?"

He slowly blinked, "She fought back." He stated simply, though that hadn't been the complete reason as to why he had hurt her. He had known going into her house and waiting for her that his fighting instincts were sometimes faster than his mind; he would kill without meaning too. When she had fought back, he had needed to apprehend her without killing her, and the only way to insure that, was to put her out of commission.

The men, both assassins themselves, seemed to understand what he wasn't saying, and waved him in. "The boss is in the library." One whispered, before shutting the door behind him, leaving him in a room of complete darkness.

The library had once been a meeting room for doctors to discuss their patients, surgery, and quite possibly what they had done wrong when a patient had died on them. However, when _he_ moved in, he had changed to place to fit his own needs, transforming the room into a rather large library with shelf after shelf of books on the occult.

Miroku made his way to the fourth floor of the hospital, and then pushed through a set of doors. He knew the building like the back of his hand, which was a good thing, seeing as there was hardly ever in lights to lead his way. Stepping into the room, he made his way to the large desk that had been situated in the middle of the room, and deposited the girl to the floor.

"She's hurt." A disembodied voice whispered from behind the desk.

Miroku's jaw clenched and he nodded his head, "She is."

The chair behind the desk swiveled around and the man, the Boss, got to his feet, and slowly walked to where the young assassin stood. "Why is she hurt?" The man hissed his breath warm against Miroku's face.

"She fought back." He said once again, only this time without so much conviction and authority.

The man took a step back, his long black hair flowing behind him, "So she did," He whispered almost to himself, sounding slightly happy about the fact, "Did you notice anything odd about her fighting?"

Miroku immediately thought back to the tiny gash across his ankle, "No."

"Nothing?" the man prompted, turning back around to him.

The gash had been the first time that he had ever felt the sting of another's blade, he knew this and knew that she had no idea. Staring defiantly into his boss' eyes, he shook his head, "No, sir."

"Fine then," the man muttered in disappointment, "What of the rest of the taijiya?"

He thought back to the young boy, and once again shook his head, "They're dead."

"Every last one?"

"Yes." He whispered his mind still on the boy, the boy that had looked at him with such terror when he had snuck up behind him. He had gazed into the eyes of the young one, and knew that he wouldn't be able to kill him.

_"You will tell a soul nothing of what has transpired here. Do you understand?"_

_"Y-you're going to spare me?"_

_"Leave at once."_

_"What about my sister? I won't leave without her!"_

_"You will, and you will do so now."_

He shook his head to rid himself of his last words to the kid, and then gazed into the cold eyes of his boss. "They have all been taken care of."

The pale man nodded, "Good…" He murmured, "Leave her, and go. I will be in touch with you soon enough."

He hesitated for a moment, gazing down once again at the young woman lying on the floor, and then nodded, swiftly turning and walking towards the door.

"And Miroku…?"

He stopped, still staring straight ahead at the door.

"That which I have given to you, I can easily take away."

He nodded his head, "Yes…Naraku…" He replied, his right hand clenching involuntarily.

"Go on then." His boss stated in his eerily voice, a voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

He nodded once more, and left the room, his hatred for his boss once again consuming him. He wanted to kill the man, or slowly torture him, and then kill him. It wouldn't be hard either; it was Naraku that made him what he was. It was also Naraku that held all the cards, he knew it and so did Miroku. And unless he wanted to die, Miroku would follow his every bidding without a thought of ever wishing against it.

Ignoring the searing pain in his right hand for the mere thought of killing him, Miroku made his way to his car, walking past the two guards without a second glance. He knew they would understand his anger and hurry to leave; they two were only there because Naraku had something they wanted. Or something they needed, whatever it was, he had his hold over each and every one of them.

He jumped into his car and sped away, back to his apartment—yet another place that wasn't a safe haven away from the man. But it was the only place he had to go.

* * *

Sango slowly blinked her eyes open, and rubbed her head. Her mind slowly fumbled over what had happened the night before. For some strange reason, she couldn't remember anything. She couldn't remember the dinner with her father or the inevitable fight, and she couldn't remember talking to her brother like she always did.

_What had happened?_ She thought to herself, slowly dragging herself up into a sitting position—she couldn't even recall going to bed. "What the heck…?" She muttered to herself, bringing her legs up beneath her, and then she gasped as an intense pain when racing through her leg. And with the pain, came the memories of the night before.

Her heart immediately started to race and she gazed around her, wondering why things hadn't sunk in sooner. She was _not_ sitting in her bed at her room at home; she was sitting in a hospital bed in a brightly lit room of white. The ceiling of the room was full of overhead lights, bouncing off the silver boxes that surrounded each bulb. The floor of the room was made of some kind of clear substance, and she could see lights beneath it too. And only three walls were painted white, the other wall was made of glass, and it overlooked another room just like it across a hallway.

She began to shake in fear, and slowly she looked down at herself. She was dressed in a pale blue gown that came down to her knees and was several sizes to big for her. Her long black hair had been let down, and carefully washed and brushed, she could tell by the dull shine off of it. The glass had been extracted from her hands, and then they had been bandaged in gaze. Her legs had been bandaged as well, and reaching up to her collarbone, she felt even more gauze.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. _Where am I? What happened? Who was that guy and why didn't he kill me?_

"You're awake, I see."

She jumped at the sound of the voice, and turned around to look at the glass wall; an old lady with an eye patch and a tray full of food stood on the other side of the wall. She smiled warmly at the girl, and then reached over, pressed a few buttons on a keypad mounted on a stand in front of Sango's room, and the glass wall swung open.

"I did not think ye would ever wake." She went on to say, setting the tray on the bed beside Sango. "Thou was wounded badly in the battle."

Sango took a deep breath and stared at the woman with slight suspicion, "What battle?"

"Thee one ye had with the young man," She replied, unfolding a stack of clothing and handing it over to Sango. "Here, put this on."

Sango stared at the garments for a moment and then back up into her face, "Who was he? Who was the man that killed my family?"

The woman sighed, "To know the name of the man is not in your best interests—not while you hold so much anger towards him."

"He killed my family!" She screamed, glaring at the elderly woman, "What is his name?!"

The woman sighed wearily and carefully set the clothes down in front of the young woman, "He does not wish to do the things he does…" She whispered softly and then turned away from the young warrior, "Get dressed, and dine, for soon hardships will find there way to you."

"What hardships?" Sango demanded, "Where am I? Who are you? What do you want with me?"

The woman slowly turned around and smiled sadly at the girl, "My name is Kaede, and ye are under his domain now." Her eyes filled with sadness, "I was once someone…we all were…." She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts, and walked to the open glass wall, pushing another few buttons on the other side, the wall swung shut. "May Buddha be with ye, pray the he takes pity on ye soul."

Sango watched Kaede walk down the hall and then disappear from sight. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm her anger and fear, she reached down and picked up the clothing that the woman had left. It was only a pair of baggy white pants and a huge smock-like shirt. Something that would be seen on a patient from a rather expensive hospital, a pair of slippers came with the outfit.

She quickly took off theoversized gown,and dressed herself. Sighing, she began to eat; it seemed only minutes later that another person came to stand in front of her glass wall. It wasn't until it swung open that she even knew that they were there.

Jumping to her feet, she slid into a fighter's stance, glaring at the man that stood in front of her. He rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded a lot like _feh_, before finally clearing his throat.

"Are you done stuffing your face?"

Her eyes narrowed, "Who are you?"

He ignored her, instead he turned on his heels and waved her on to follow him, "Come on, follow me."

"Why?" She croaked, the ware and tear of having been kidnapped finally beginning to creep in on her—she felt too tired to even defend herself, whether she had a bum leg or not. She felt almost like curling up into a ball and giving up on life; there was no need for her anymore. Without family, she was nothing, and if she couldn't kill the man that killed everyone that ever mattered to her, than she was less than nothing. She couldn't even bring back honor onto the Hogosha line.

_Their deaths were for naught._ She thought to her self, and wiped away a tear that had begun to make its trek down her cheek. "Why?" she repeated in a whisper, though she was no longer asking him why he wanted her. Why had this happened to her? Why did that man come into her house? Why was she the only one that he didn't feel the need to kill? _Why?_

"Because the testing is about to begin."

* * *

He led her down many hallways, seeming to not be heading in any particular direction. He seemed to choose halls at random, and once she would have sworn that he looked around lost; but in the end, they finally made it to their destination.

It was a very brightly lit room, one with computers and all kinds of foreign equipment scattered about everywhere. Sango wasn't sure that she liked the look of all the machinery, but she kept her tongue still as she observed the room, trying to see if there was a way out. She had yet to find a hidden door, though she did find many swords lining one wall, and what looked like stun guns along another. It all looked very menacing and foreboding.

"Stay here." The white-haired man muttered, and then left the room. Even he appeared a little apprehensive of the place. This did nothing to calm her nerves.

It wasn't long before another man made his way into the room, staring steadily down at a clipboard in front of him, he looked up only once—and that had been to make sure that he wasn't alone in the room.

"You are Sango, are you not?"

She said nothing, and he looked as though he had been prepared for that. He gazed up at her and smiled eerily at her, "My name is Dr. Zenko, could you please step over to the right?"

She didn't move, and a second later was rewarded by the feel of a sharp object sinking into her forearm. She looked up at the doctor in confusion, and he only shook his head, "You should've done as you were told to." He laughed, and watched as she sunk limply to the floor. "That was a paralyzing potion; it'll only last a few moments, just long enough for this to not be painful." He leaned over her, and prepped her arm for an IV. "After this, Sango, all the fun begins."

She watched him numbly from the floor, and for the first time in her life, she was completely terrified.

**Author's Note: **And that's a wrap! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I'm going through a weird time right now. And by weird, I mean that I got a job. Between balancing schoolwork and _actual_ work, my writing has been taking the back seat. But seeing as this is going to be a long weekend (and this week I only have to work on Friday) I'll try to make sure to update every one of my stories. And, I might be finally fixing the whole computer thing soon—I'm either going to help out, so that we can _finally_ get a new Dell, or I'm going to buy a laptop. So, until then, here's chapter three! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!


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